Cereal Killer

only toiletries.
    “Ladies put it on their faces first thing in the morning when they wake up. It tightens the skin, minimizes pores, refines and tones...”
    His eyes were starting to glaze over, so she stopped. Like most members of his gender, Dirk had a low overload threshold when it came to “girl” topics. Or pretty much any other topic that didn’t directly pertain to him.
    But he quickly recovered and switched back into “investigator mode.” Running his thumb lightly over the toothbrush in the stand beside the sink, he said, “It’s dry.”
    “Hmmm,” she said.
    “Definitely a hmmm,” he replied.
    In the bedroom, they found the only sign of anything out of order—an unmade bed. The snowy white quilt was bunched at the foot of the bed, the pillows tossed against the headboard, and the pale blue sheets rumpled.
    “Well,” he said. “She was human after all. Look at that bed. I would have figured she was the type to turn around and make it the minute she got up.”
    Savannah lifted one eyebrow. “No way,” she told him. “You’re supposed to let it air at least a few minutes before you make it.”
    His chin dropped. “Are you kidding me? Let it ‘air’? You mean, like opening the bathroom window after you take a—”
    “Yeah. That’s the idea.”
    He shook his head. “Boy, you gals have a lot of stupid rules about stuff. I never thought I needed to air out my bed before I make it.”
    ‘You actually make your bed?”
    He grinned. “Once in awhile.”
    She snickered. “Like maybe on a Friday morning when you’ve got a date that night and are hoping you’ll get lucky.”
    Laughing, he said, “I’m glad you think I still get lucky sometimes.”
    “Well, don’t you?”
    He shrugged. ‘Yeah, maybe once in a blue moon. And you?”
    She decided to ignore that one. Instead of answering him and admitting a depressingly long spell of celibacy, she walked over to the dresser and opened a couple of drawers, searching until she found Kameeka’s stash of bras.
    “That’s what I figured,” she said.
    “What did you figure?”
    “She’s got a whole set of athletic bras in here. Not surprising for a woman who has her own line of lingerie.”
    “And your point is?”
    “Kameeka’s a full-figured lady.” She looked at the size tag on one of the bras. “A 42DD.”
    His eyes lit up with predictable male appreciation. “Yep, that’s a big girl, all right.”
    “And she was out jogging.”
    “So...?”
    “In a flimsy, lacy little Saturday night date bra. That’s a good way for a full-figured lady to cause herself some major pain. A jogger with big boobs knows that you wear a substantial athletic bra when you’re running.” He grinned knowingly. “Or you bounce too much and give yourself black eyes?”
    She wrinkled her nose and gave him a piggy snort. “Don’t be such a guy if you can help it, Coulter. Let’s just say that I went horseback riding once wearing a ‘come hither’ bra instead of a ‘granny full-support’ type and I was in pain for a week.”
    Again, his eyes were starting to glaze over, and she realized that even female topics relating to breasts had their limitations.
    “Then you don’t think she was out there jogging?” he said.
    “No, I don’t. I think she got out of bed, went into the bathroom and slapped on some toner, walked to the kitchen where her coffee was already brewed...”
    “And somebody got her in the kitchen.”
    She nodded. ‘“Got her,’ as you put it, badly enough that they had to clean the floor afterward.”
    “Then they dressed her in shorts and a T-shirt and running shoes to make it look like she was jogging...”
    “And took her up to Citrus Road and dumped her.”
    “And ran over her to make it look good.”
    Inwardly, Savannah shuddered, remembering the tire marks on the woman’s thigh. “Yeah. And ran over her like she was some sort of roadkill.”
    They both stood there in the bedroom, looking at the rumpled bed where the beautiful model—the one who had stood on that windswept cliff overlooking the ocean—had spent her last night. Probably never realizing that it was to be her last night.
    “We’ll have to wait and see what Dr. Liu finds out,” Dirk said softly, a rare note of reverence and sadness in his voice.
    “Yes,” Savannah replied. “And the crime scene techs need to Luminol that kitchen floor.”
    “So that they can tell us what we already know.” Savannah took a deep breath and suddenly felt